


Shoreline

by Red_Tigress



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Matt, Hurt/Comfort, Matt and Foggy are the best and I love them kay?, spoilers for 1x09 and beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt needs to find the shore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoreline

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a super fun challenge to describe things in a non-visual way. I hope you get a kick out of reading this as much as did writing it. Leave some love if you like it! I can be found on tumblr at redtigress.

His side echoed the pain of a knife slicing into it when he turned, the wound still uncomfortably fresh. Two days wasn’t enough time to recover from a knife wound, something that Matt knew better than most doctors. Lack of sleep was also distorting his senses, making him miss things that normally he would have picked up instantly. Things like the footsteps behind him as he dodged a punch from the man in front of him. As it was, he smelled the guy’s breath before he heard him, which was incredibly distressing sign of his lack of alertness that night.

Matt was tackled hard from behind, by a man who smelled of red meat and cigarettes. He gasped as he hit the ground, the rough asphalt digging painfully into his wounded side. He felt fingers move to the back of his head. The man was preparing to smash his face into the ground. But Matt also could feel how his weight was distributed unevenly where it rested over his lower back.

He slammed his elbow behind him and connected solidly with the man’s shin. The man shouted and fell sideways. Matt tried to pull himself away, but a hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him back. Matt grunted as he rotated his hip and swung his other leg towards the man’s face.

The man caught his ankle and Matt heard his elbow punching down through the air around him a split second before Matt then _felt_ the elbow land into his knife wound.

He screamed and automatically folded in on himself but the man still had his ankle. He yanked Matt forward another few feet. Matt gasped for breath and not only because it felt like someone had their fingers in his side and was _squeezing_. Matt could sense there was solid asphalt in front of him for the next few feet, could smell it, but beyond that was just the choppy sounds of waves smacking against rotting wood and the smell of floating garbage.

Matt began to reach for one of the batons strapped to his leg but a big, meaty fist hit his jaw before he could get far. It was like a rock crashing against his jaw and he felt his teeth slice the inside of his cheek. He lay dazed, his senses spiralling so much that he didn’t even realize the moment he was picked up and thrown into the water.

The temperature took his breath away. It was December and the water was colder than the air outside. It was not only cold, but painful where it crashed over his face. But then it was _in_ his face. Water filled his nostrils and his throat, rushing to fill the void. He tried to cough, expelling precious air.

And he also wasn’t sure which way was up. The water sounded and felt the same all around him. Sounds from the shore were muted, while sounds in the water were impossibly loud and seemed to be echoing all around him. He heard a boat engine with a high pitched mechanical whine that was loud enough to be painful. He heard the dim echo of hundreds of pieces of metallic garbage shifting slightly against the dirt every time the water moved. And he heard-

The first bullet surprised him. He didn’t realize it was a bullet until the strange zipping noise turned to fire in his calf. He couldn’t stop the scream that escaped him, his precious air leaving him in a muted shout. There was another zipping noise, and he pulled himself sluggishly through the water. When he concentrated, he could feel the vibrations in the water, tell where the bullet was coming from. But he was moving too slow. He was out of air. He was bleeding from the leg, and his knife wound in his side was also burning. He could taste the blood on his tongue, along with the disgusting taste of chemicals, garbage, and something that tasted like...well, he didn’t want to know.

He pulled himself forward, away from the bullets and not daring to resurface. His strokes were getting weaker. His perception of the space around him was rapidly shrinking to the area just around his body.

Where was the shoreline?

Another bullet zipped through the water, fast and loud enough that his hearing latched onto it like an anchor. They were getting further away. He was making progress.

He might have laughed at the prospect of someone throwing a guy who’s wearing dark colors into a dark river at night and then trying to shoot him.

But now he was also out of air and it wasn’t so funny that he’d got his ass beat by a couple of lowly thugs.

He swam upwards and after a few feet, felt the surface tension break. He sucked in a lungful of air, trying to be quiet, but it felt so loud in his ears. Louder than his hearing coming crashing back after the muted stillness of the Hudson. It felt like he was picking every sound at once, a tidal wave of car engines, people, machinery…

He pulled himself back under. He knew where the shoreline was.

With a sense of renewed urgency, he swam towards it. The wound in his side felt like it was ripping into his insides, and his skin was getting hot and tight around it. Every time he moved his right arm forward, the sharp flare in his side was almost overwhelming. By comparison, the bullet wound in his calf felt disconnected and numb. The bullet had passed through, but Matt was beginning to get nervous he couldn’t feel that foot.

He surfaced for air again, breathing through his teeth to try and negate the noise. He listened for the noise of the men who had been chasing him. He thought he picked their voices up farther down the shoreline, but he couldn’t be sure it was them. The water did strange things to soundwaves, carrying them over the surface. The water could make it sound like someone half a mile away was right next to you.

But he was safe, for the moment. He swam forward, towards the sound of where he heard a few plastic bottles butting rhythmically against something metal. Hopefully a ladder.

He was breathing hard and could barely concentrate on more right  now. His hand hit the metal of a dock support, and he felt around looking for a hand grab. His hand landed on rope, and he gave it an experimental tug. It held.

Gingerly, he pulled himself up hand over hand. The distance was only about two feet but it felt like he was scaling a cliff face. He bit back a yell as he reached up every time. He tried to support himself with his good foot, his injured one dangling uselessly behind him. He felt where the dock started and slowly, painfully, pulled himself up.

He lay there for a moment, just breathing. He was shaking from pain, exhaustion and cold. His suit did a little to protect him from the elements but he’d been in the water too long. It was soaked through and he could feel it sapping the heat out of his body.

He rolled over slowly and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He wasn’t that familiar with this dock, but he knew where he was. He could pinpoint the Korean barbecue a block and a half away. Foggy would have teased him that he was so beat up the only thing he could rely on was the smell of cooked meats.

Matt stood up, groaning, as he leaned on a dumpster. Well, maybe not teased him. Probably more like berated him mercilessly.

He could call Claire-

He remembered the wet lump of burner phone in his belt. Okay, maybe not. Foggy only lived a few blocks from here. Matt took a few shaky steps forward. He absolutely _hated_ going to Foggy when he was in a state like this. Claire could make herself clinically detached and professional, in a way that wasn’t isolating. She could care, but she still knew how to get down to business when it was needed.

While Foggy was professional in the courtroom, when it came to seeing the streets imprinting themselves onto Matt very personally, he was a mess. His voice shook with emotion, worry, and pain, and it only made Matt’s heart sink in his chest that he had to put his best friend through this. Foggy didn’t ask for this, and it hurt Matt that out of all the things in Hell’s Kitchen that might break his friend the leading contender was him.

It was an excruciatingly slow job to pull himself up the nearest fire escape. He had to cross a few rooftops, and each jump left him breathless and lying there for a solid few minutes while he caught his breath and gathered the strength to keep going. By the time he reached Foggy’s window, he could barely stand and barely breath. Blood cascaded down his side, his knife wound bleeding freely and there was a  _squelch_  every time he put weight on the boot that housed his injured leg. That had gone from numb to feeling like someone was punching it pretty quickly. He’d also run out of energy to shiver. His suit was still wet and cold, but now he could feel his body maybe shutting down.

He lightly tapped on the glass that led to Foggy’s bedroom. Or at least he thought it did. Did he mess up the counting? He counted the windows again from the edge of the building. Normally he could pick up the sound waves bouncing off glass easily but he lost count somewhere in the middle of the brick between four and five. He tapped again, hoping he’d get lucky.

He heard shuffling from inside and a muffled thud. A moment later, he heard the sound of the latches being unlocked and the window slid up with a rickety shutter.

“Holy shit, Matt!”

Matt couldn’t help smiling slightly at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Hey, Foggy,” he whispered. His smile turned into a grimace. “I’m sorry to...to have…” he trailed off.

He felt his friends hands on his arms (so warm) pulling him forward. “Holy crap, Matt, you’re wet! And freezing! And...and bleeding!” Foggy’s voice was tinged with panic.

Matt stumbled into the window, trying his best not to land on his friend. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure his friend.

“It’s not okay, you crazy asshole!” Foggy half-carried Matt to the living room, where he then sat him down on the couch. Matt slouched forward as Foggy hurriedly unzipped his jacket and unbuckled his mask. He was mumbling _“shitshitshitshit”_ under his breath the whole time. Matt bit his bottom lip unhappily. Foggy’s handed ghosted over his side and Matt couldn’t help the small whimper of pain that escaped him when his fingers touched the wound.

“I’m calling Claire,” Foggy informed him. Matt just nodded. He could tell Foggy was worried because he called Claire by her name and not “your hot nurse friend”. Matt sagged back into the couch cushions, not really listening to Foggy’s conversation. It was pretty brief. Matt soon felt a scratchy wool blanket covering him and Foggy held soft cotton pads against his side.

Matt took it as a sign of Foggy’s worry that he didn’t even ask Matt what had happened. He took a deep inhale. He tasted a lot of things in the air. Foggy had cooked spaghetti and meatballs a few hours before. The kitchen floor had been cleaned about an hour after that. Matt’s own blood now gave off a scent from where it trailed across the floor.

He grimaced again. “Foggy.”

“Matt? What is it?” Foggy’s voice was still tainted with worry, but there was a steadiness that hadn’t been there before. He was ready to do what needed to be done now that Claire was coming.

Matt gave his head a slight shake. “I’m...so sorry…” his voice broke slightly, and a massive tremor wracked his body right at that moment. He felt Foggy’s fingers lace through his own.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not angry, but I’ll get over it,” Foggy assured him. “When you’re better, you’re helping me scrub the blood out of my carpets, I don’t care if you can see it or not. I’ll make you scrub the whole place.”

Matt let out a pained snort. “Deal.”

They sat in silence for a little while, Matt too tired to speak, and Foggy having nothing to say. It would have been comfortable if Matt wasn’t in so much pain. He was beginning to drift when there was a knock on the door. Foggy’s fingers unlaced from his own as he got up to answer it.

There was a brief conversation before he felt the steady touch of Claire’s hands on his body. Foggy sat down beside him again, and took his hands once more. Matt let himself drift away, secure in the knowledge that he was safe among his anchors to the shore.

 

 


End file.
